Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
Driving along on a bright, cold winter day, I made a decision to alter my way, to take a trip air a place I remember, that was a part of me.
I progressed along and doubt came within, I wasn't sure ... how do I return to that place? The road was cold and a breeze was upon.
I spied an old man standing by the way of my journey, the journey to that place I remembered. I slowed my approach to ask of him if he could assist and he said, I remember it well, I would be happy to give directions to that place that was part of me as well.
You follow this road to the intersection of Ninly Road... I know it well as it used to be, old Route 9 and yes it was also mine.
You then turn right and go a short distance, and you will find the place you remembered. I restarted my trip and was soon aware I had forgotten what was given from the old man by the road, was it Ninly or old Route 9... Oh my... I will stop by a phone booth and call my Dad... He will know and he lives just beyond Ninly on this same road, and he introduced me to that place that was part of me.
“Hello Dad... Do you remember Ninly Road?” Or maybe it was called Old route 9. I have lost my way and I want to return to that place I remembered, if just for the day. Sure I remember ole Ninly and now 9. We will get you there and you will be just fine, I also have returned there, as you must remember... It was also a place of mine.
Just follow the road and ole Ninly will soon be upon you, Just follow the directions I am about to give. They will take you back to that place that you remember. I know you are coming toward me, I can see you clearly in my minds eye. As you approach ole Ninely just make a left as I see your approach, a left as you approach me and you will soon be there.
I drove as directed by that old man, and then I drove as directed by my Dad. I drove as directed… sadly, not found.
I made another phone call to Dad but he never answered. It was 6:32 at the break of day, my dear Dad had passed, just moments before, my Dad had passed away.
I will always remember those last words to me.... Just make a left, you will be just fine. He was right as he was most often, but not this time.
Both the old man and Dad were directing, as they were to see, going and coming directions were different to me, as we were one, as we were three... that old man, Dad and me.
Just past Ninly and 9 will soon to be found…
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
Who Protects the Singular and the Few?
Acknowledged without reward.
The Predator took my talents,
My gifts stolen and used.
I am without rewards.
I never wanted them,
The Agent, Some Union dues.
Who protects the singular or the few?
The masses need protection too.
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
You are my brothers – I am your sons,
Given and of the gene as one,
Time, distances endless are we,
Spirit, mind, body, all three,
Brothers yet to be, what can I do for thee?
What weighs heavy on my path?
Brothers of the past, what have you done to me?
As you were, you are now in me,
Strengths are many, weaknesses’ few,
Paranoia fell by the way for me,
Its ugliness born what is yet to be.
You are my brothers; I am your sons,
Distance cannot keep us from being one,
Brothers that were and yet to come,
Brothers gave what is strong,
Eyes that see, glazed as they are,
Eyes that view our thoughts see me,
Touch me, a vapor strength possessed,
Know our light as our light knows you,
Peace misunderstood, the lightness views,
Brothers fear the word, the sickness embraced
I will not touch or taste,
Impressed not to care,
The ugly sickness must be there.
What we want for you is what we want for me,
Brothers of the past, Brothers now and yet to be,
Peace is given, peace embraced, hate far removed,
Brothers heed our words, as torment is not for thee.
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
Abortionist
Consent Not Granted!
I Am That I Am
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
I, born of the Cherokee man,
As their mothers and fathers were,
No blending to erase because of race,
I, a full-blooded Cherokee man.
Raised by a white man,
Without Cherokee blood.
Grew old in my blood,
Memories not told.
Known by the Tribe as a white guy,
With Cherokee blood,
Known by the white guy,
As a full Cherokee Man.
Moving forward I wed,
A full Cherokee woman,
Our children, raised by the Tribe,
My ancestry is alive.
Give Me Your Best New Poem' Contest Info
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
A multitude of reasons pass by my brow as the path of illumination embraces, And they all lead to sorrow.
The deed of destruction comes upon me; Disguised as many things, even love and often the deed cloaked.
We beg thee a return to the past.
A new day that will bring forth what is yours, what are yours and only yours to give. As the multitude of reasons passes my brow, all were of good intention, passed with love; all were of good intention but led to sorrow.
We beg of thee a return to the past and only yours to give.
Forgiveness asked,
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
You, born of flesh without knowledge.
You, born of flesh, molded by love.
You, in time became one with another.
Gave birth, flesh without knowledge.
You molded flesh with love although not of its penchant.
Flesh took a path, different from you and failed the ordeal.
Flesh inclined others they also followed his ways.
When your box is ready, put away are you,
May ceremony be your wishes, and have someone to follow through.
You died, boxed and put away, without ceremony as wished.
Vengeance is not mine even when you're one with another
Is ceremoniously declined.
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
They were speaking loudly.
Nothing could I hear.
Volumes are clear.
Chatter is around me,
Nothing could I hear.
Am I listening?
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
A word spoken
Its journey not known.
A word passed
To hear and see.
Enjoyment…, anger…,
Direction given without fear,
For what I say is what I intended.
What I intended is what I say
Clearly given explicitly.
Not a doubt of what my meaning would be.
I have no idea…
Why are you upset with me?
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Wilbert Webb Poem
The best trade I ever made,
Great in value…
Did not I lose?
The best trade I ever made,
My bounty is full,
Did not I gain?
One week is seven days of variety.
One week is seven days,
Past or yet to come.
One week is seven days,
One day after another.
Seven days are seven days.
All of my choosing
Copyright © Wilbert Webb | Year Posted 2018
|